


Free Spirit

by Treon



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Ending, Canonical Character Death, Friendship, Gen, White Collar Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 20:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5262566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treon/pseuds/Treon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate ending to S6 in which Neal is really dead, except he isn't really, except he really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sholio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/gifts).



> Written for the 6th round of the White Collar Big Bang Challenge. Inspired by prompts from sholio at the collarcorner (SPOILER WARNING!!): [here](http://collarcorner.livejournal.com/31046.html?thread=1131078#t1131078) and [here](http://collarcorner.livejournal.com/32164.html?thread=1176228#t1176228).
> 
> The beautiful art by nywcgirl, who came up with the most amazing art despite me not managing to keep to schedule ([art post here](http://nywcgirl.livejournal.com/56659.html))
> 
> Many thanks to [Mums The Word](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/) for her help and suggestions, which really made the story.

  
  
This wasn't the plan.  
  
Neal was drowning. Darkness closed in on him from all sides. Stifling him. He couldn't breath, couldn't move, couldn't speak.  
  
He tried to yell, but no words came out.  
  
He had spent weeks meticulously planning it all down to the last detail. It shouldn't have been like this.  
  
And then, suddenly, the heaviness was lifted.  
  
Neal blinked in surprise. He knew this place.  
  
*****

*****

  
  
The corridor stretched out endlessly, drab walls all around him, but Peter didn't see any of it.  
  
  
  
He had seen Neal's body, lying there, unmoving. As much as his mind refused to accept it, that image kept floating up before his eyes. Neal in a body-bag, lying in the hospital's morgue.  
  
When he had arrived, he had gone straight to emergency care, hoping against hope that he'll find Neal there. But the nurses couldn't find his name on their lists, and they ever so gently suggested he go downstairs.  
  
Neal was gone. Dead. No more.  
  
He glanced down at the anklet in his hands and the tears welled up again. He dabbed at them with his suit sleeve. If Neal could see him now... he automatically smiled at thought, but then he realized. Neal couldn't see him now. Would never see him again.  
  
He had been trying to keep the tears at bay, but now they broke through. He felt so empty, and so alone.  
  
Elizabeth.  
  
He fumbled for his phone and after a few attempts with his wet fingers, managed to press the auto-dial button.  
  
"Hey, Hon," she answered, her voice light and cheerful. He could hear some banging of pots in the background. Was El doing an event? She might have mentioned something in the morning. Morning, when he left and she hugged him tight and wished him good luck on the op, seemed so long ago. He couldn't remember. "How are things going?"  
  
"It's... " Suddenly he was at a loss for words. "I..."  
  
Elizabeth quickly picked up on his tone. "What's wrong?"  
  
"It's Neal." His voice broke. "He's dead."  
  
There was a short silence as El digested that. "Where are you?"  
  
He looked around, for a moment unsure. He had driven in a daze after the ambulance. He stopped a passing nurse. "Um.. Excuse me. Which hospital is this?"  
  
"Mount Sinai"  
  
Elizabeth heard the answer as well. "Hold on. I'll be there as soon as I can."  
  
Peter wanted to tell her not to bother, that he'll drive himself home. But he just didn't have the strength to argue. "Thanks."  
  
*****  
  
The drive home was silent. El stole glances at Peter, and when they stopped at a stoplight, she reached for his hand and squeezed it tight.  
  
"Keller killed him," Peter volunteered the information after a few more moments of silent driving. El hadn't asked, but he knew she wanted to know. And he needed to talk. "He shot him."  
  
"Keller," El repeated. Her hands tightened on the steering-wheel.  
  
"He's dead," Peter hurriedly added. At El's silent question, he continued to explain, "I shot him." Peter's breath shuddered. "He was holding a woman hostage. I had no choice."  
  
"The world is better off," El mumbled. She glanced at him again, then her eyes moved back to the road. "You did the right thing."  
  
"Too late."  
  
El wasn't sure what to say to that. "Does Mozzie know?"  
  
Peter nodded. "He was there to ID the-" His voice broke. At least Mozzie already knew. Peter couldn't imagine having to tell the little guy. Which made him realize... "I have to tell June."  
  
El didn't think Peter was really up to it. "We can do do it later."  
  
"No... the Marshals or OPR could show up there. She should hear it from me."  
  
Elizabeth looked like she wanted to argue the point, but she didn't. Instead, she signaled to take the next turn.  
  
*****  
  
Carla, June's maid, answered the door at June's mansion. She blinked at them both. "Agent Burke. Mister Caffrey is not home."  
  
"I... I know," Peter said. El's hand squeezed his tight. "I'm here to speak to June."  
  
She opened the door wider. "Please come in."  
  
"Who is it?" They heard June inside, and then she appeared by the open door. "Peter!" she smiled at him. And then she noticed Elizabeth. Her glance moved between Peter and Elizabeth and her smile wavered. She could see on their faces that this wasn't just a friendly visit.  
  
"What happened?" she asked. And then, the question Peter feared: "Did something happen to Neal?"  
  
Peter looked over at Elizabeth. It was his decision to come here, and his responsibility to break the news. But it was Elizabeth who first spoke up. "Maybe we should come in."  
  
June didn't budge. "What happened?"  
  
Peter cleared his throat. "Neal was shot. Keller..." Peter took a deep breath and then blurted it out. "Neal is dead."  
  
June's hand shot to her mouth. "No."  
  
"I'm afraid-"  
  
"That's impossible."  
  
"I identified his body, June."  
  
At this point, El practically pushed her way in, and helped guide June to the nearest couch.  
  
She turned to Carla. "Can you bring a glass of water?"  
  
The maid nodded, and hurried off, relieved to be doing something.  
  
*****  
  
They didn't stay long at June's house. June had announced that she really, really needed to have some time alone, and her maid jumped in and ushered them both out.  
  
"What was that all about?" Peter mumbled as they made their way back to the car.  
  
"I don't know." El looked back towards the stately mansion. "But I got the distinct impression she was putting on a show for us."  
  
"A show?"  
  
"Yes. I don't think she really believes he's dead."  
  
"Well, I saw his body. He's definitely..." He swallowed. It was still hard for him to say it. "Dead."  
  
They both got into the car, and El put the key in the ignition.  
  
"No," Peter continued, "I think she's blaming me for Neal's death, and she's right."  
  
El blinked at that. "June doesn't blame you."  
  
Peter just shook his head.  
  
"I knew he was up to something. I shouldn't have left them both alone like that."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Keller and Neal." Peter leaned back in the passenger's seat and closed his eyes. "We arrested them, as part of the op. I should have kept them both under guard."  
  
El took his hand, forcing his attention towards her. "This wasn't your fault. You know Neal... if he got it into his head to run away, he would have escaped no matter how many guards you put on him. He escaped Sing-Sing, remember?"  
  
But she also knew her husband, and she knew that no matter what she'd say, he would still feel responsible.  
  
"I'll call Yvonne," she said, coming to a decision. "I'll have her take over the reception tonight."  
  
At Peter's questioning glance, she added, "I think it's best for both of us."  
  
He didn't argue.  
  
*****

  
Dinner was a quiet affair. Neither Peter nor El felt like cooking, so they ordered out for some Thai food. But neither felt like eating much either.  
  
Finally, Peter stopped poking at his noodles, and pushed it aside. "My best friend," he said.  
  
El, deep in her own thoughts, looked up. "What?"  
  
"When he was being loaded up into the ambulance." He didn't need to specify who he was talking about. "There was so much blood... but he was still able to talk. He said that I'm his best friend."  
  
El sighed.  
  
"He knew he wasn't going to make it," Peter voice broke.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Peter shook his head, and took a deep breath. "Don't be."  
  
*****  
  
After dinner, they watched an old movie they'd recorded earlier that week. Back when life was good and everything was looking up. El fell asleep, snuggled in Peter's arms.  
  
Peter didn't really watch the movie. He let his mind wander as the pictures played before his eyes. When the credits rolled, he checked on El and then slowly extricated himself from under her arms, leaving her lying on the couch.  
  
He shut the lights in the living room and entered the kitchen area.  
  
A small bag was lying on the kitchen island. Neal's personal effects. There wasn't much there. Neal's wallet, his ID, his anklet. The bullet that killed him. Peter took it out and examined it. Point thirty-eight caliber. Amazing that such a little thing could cause such horrific damage.  
  
With a sigh, Peter put it down. He'd have to bring it back to the office, and bag it as evidence. To be added to the file on the murder of Neal Caffrey. A completely useless file. Neal was dead and so was his murderer.  
  
His thoughts turned to more concrete matters. At some point, he'd would have to clear out Neal's desk. Possibly his apartment too, if June wouldn't get to it first.  
  
Feeling that he had to do _something_ , Peter went upstairs, and soon returned with the "Caffrey Box". When he was chasing Neal, he'd saved every piece of evidence against the fugitive. But not everything could be bagged and tagged and stashed away in the FBI's evidence locker. Not everything he _wanted_ to put away there.  
  
Removing the cover, Peter dropped in the little paper bag. Inside, he spotted the birthday card Neal had sent him from prison and reached for it. It had been Neal's first year there, and it must have been a hard year, but none of that showed in the cheerful missive he'd penned inside. Signed "xoxoxo Neal".  
  
Unbidden, tears welled up, obscuring the handwritten note. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. The day had started off so well. They captured the Pink Panthers. Neal was finally going to achieve his freedom. As much as Peter had feared that Neal couldn't handle that freedom just yet, he had been so proud of the young man and his progress and had high hopes for his future. And now... now there was no future.  
  
How had it all turned out so badly?  
  
He'd always liked Neal. Back when he was chasing him, Neal offered an intellectual challenge, and with cards like this, it had become personal. Now he was gone. Forever. "God, Neal."  
  
"We've had good times together, didn't we?"  
  
Peter's head snapped up and his breath caught in his throat. Neal was sitting right across from him, on one of the kitchen bar stools, a slow smile playing on his lips.  
  
Peter closed his eyes and opened them again, but Neal was still there.  
  
Neal chuckled, then nodded towards the card in Peter's hands. "You never replied to it, you know."  
  
Peter didn't need much to break down at this point. "I'm so, so sorry." He sniffled. "This is all my fault."  
  
"Not everything is up to you, Peter."  
  
"You were still my responsibility. I shouldn't have left you alone with Keller."  
  
*****  
  
When El shrugged herself awake, she found Peter asleep by the kitchen table, his head resting on his hands. His box of Caffrey things was open, a few items spread out around it. She collected everything back inside, and put the cover back on.  
  
"Honey?" she touched his shoulder, unsure if she should wake him.  
  
Peter mumbled something and swatted away at her hand. But then his eyes flew open and he suddenly straightened up. "What happened? Neal..." Last he remembered, he was talking to Neal.  
  
"Neal is dead, Peter."  
  
"Neal is dead? But-" But he was right here, Peter was going to say. Then it all came crashing back. Keller's sneering face. There's still time to say goodbye. Neal's body in the morgue. Mozzie breaking down.  
  
El's eyes were full of concern. "Come on, let's go to bed."  
  
Peter looked around the kitchen. Neal wasn't there. It had been a dream after all.


	2. Maureen

Peter went to work as usual the next day. The prospect of sitting at home with nothing to do but think terrified him. But the office wasn't much better. He had nothing to do there either.  
  
Though nobody had any doubt that Keller deserved what he got, it was still an 'agent involved shooting', which meant that he was officially on leave until OPR finished their investigation.  
  
He wasn't even supposed to be there, but nobody said anything. Neal was (had been) a popular guy, and Peter's special relationship with his CI wasn't such a hidden secret. Almost everybody came up to him to say something, though nobody knew what to say.  
  
Besides, he was the boss.  
  
He was making himself a cup of coffee, thinking of the time Neal froze him out of his life and decided to get coffee from the vendor downstairs, when Section Chief Bruce Hawes showed up.  
  
"Peter." Bruce nodded towards Peter's office. "A word?"  
  
Peter steeled himself for the coming lecture ("You're off-duty, Peter. That means, go home") and followed Bruce up the steps.  
  
Bruce ushered Peter in and shut the door once they were both inside.  
  
"OPR will take another day or two to finish their investigation into the shooting, but I've had a word with the agent in charge, he says you'll be cleared for duty."  
  
Peter just nodded. He didn't expect too much trouble on this front. He had dozens of witnesses who saw Keller threaten an innocent civilian. It was clear he'd done his duty.  
  
"Now..." Bruce continued, "I saw you sent in a request for an official FBI funeral."  
  
"That's right."  
  
"Caffrey was shot after he escaped custody."  
  
"Yeah. So?"  
  
Bruce took on the tone of a patient schoolteacher. "So he wasn't killed while working for the FBI."  
  
"Wait a sec-"  
  
"The Bureau doesn't honor criminals, Peter."  
  
Peter couldn't believe his ears. "Caffrey helped the FBI close countless cases. He was a valuable member of this team."  
  
"He was a valuable asset to the FBI," Bruce corrected. "A criminal informant. If he'd been killed in the line of duty, then maybe you'd have a case, but even then, it's highly unusual. I don't think I ever heard of a CI getting honors."  
  
"Listen-"  
  
"I realize Caffrey was important to you, and his death hurts. It affects all of us, believe me." Bruce looked intently at Peter. "You've been given some time off, I suggest you use it."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Go home, Peter."  
  
*****  
  
Bruce wasn't satisfied until he put Peter on the elevator going down to the first floor.  
  
Damn, damn, damn.  
  
Peter was alone in the elevator cab. He watched the descending numbers, his mind trying to find a way out of this conundrum.  
  
"It's okay, Peter."  
  
Neal was standing across from him, leaning casually against the wall, twirling his fedora in his hands.  
  
"No! It's not okay!"  
  
The elevator dinged as it came to a stop on the 14th floor. The doors opened, but there was nobody there.  
  
Annoyed, Peter banged the 'close doors' button.  
  
"I'm not going to accept this," he added, more softly this time. Even after death, the FBI insisted on cutting Neal out. It just wasn't fair. "Not this time, Neal."  
  
But he was talking to thin air. He was alone in the elevator cab.  
  
*****  
  
Elizabeth was surprised to see Peter at home when she came back from her run around town. She had an upcoming event in a couple of days, and she was still missing decorations.  
  
"What happened?" she asked.  
  
"Bruce sent me home." Peter brought El up to date on the FBI's official position towards their CI. "The FBI turned their back on him. They did it when he was alive, and they're doing it now when he's dead. I feel... I should do something."  
  
El wasn't looking forward to a clash with the FBI. "Well, if the FBI aren't going to organize his funeral, we should. You know, we could bury him next to Kate. He'd probably want that."  
  
"Yeah." He and El had taken care of all the arrangements back then. Kate had no family to speak of, and at the time, Neal was in jail, grieving and a suspect in her murder to boot. Peter hadn't wanted to burden him with the funeral details. He was never sure whether that was the right thing to do, as in the end, despite all his attempts, Neal wasn't even allowed out of jail for the funeral.  
  
"So, who should we invite?" El got out a pen and pad of paper from her bag. She flipped the pages past lists of groceries and event supplies until she reached an empty page. She titled it "Neal's funeral - invitees".  
  
Peter winced at it. It was so... final.  
  
El looked up at him. "Peter?"  
  
"Yes. Um... Mozzie."  
  
"Do you think he'll come?"  
  
Peter shrugged. "That's up to him. We can't not invite him. The White Collar people. June."  
  
It was a very short list. Peter and El looked at each other as they tried thinking of anybody else Neal might have been in touch with.  
  
"What about Neal's family?" El asked.  
  
"His father's on the run. I doubt he cares anyway."  
  
"What about his mother?"  
  
"Neal's mother?" Peter repeated. He hadn't even thought of her.  
  
"Neal was her only son, wasn't he? Does she even know he's dead?"  
  
"I... I don't know. I'll talk to the Marshals."  
  
El added "Neal's mom" to the list. "What about Sara?"  
  
"They broke up, and she's in London."  
  
"Still. She might want to be there."  
  
*****  
  
Peter looked up the number, then punched it in, waiting as one switchboard connected to another, and the call was patched through halfway around the world.  
  
The phone rang a couple of times on the other end, and then was picked up. He was greeted with a very sleepy "Hello?"  
  
Peter could have kicked himself. He had forgotten to check the time difference. "Sara?"  
  
"Yes," she croaked, then tried again. "Yes? Who is this?"  
  
"It's Peter. Peter Burke. I hope this isn't too late, or too early, I-"  
  
"I hope you're not calling about Neal," Sara hurriedly interrupted him. "I mean, if he ran or anything, I haven't spoken to him in quite a while."  
  
"It's... " Peter paused to gather his mental energies for the task ahead. "Neal was shot. He's dead."  
  
The seconds ticked by and the silence on the other side of the line stretched out.  
  
"Are you sure?" Sara finally asked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Because he faked his death in the past."  
  
"I know. But trust me, it's for real this time."  
  
Again, there was only silence on the other end, as Sara grappled with the news.  
  
"I thought, if you'd want to come to the funeral."  
  
"Oh. Wow. I'm not sure I could."  
  
"Right. It's going to be a small affair, in any case."  
  
"Yeah, yeah." Sara sighed. "Thanks for calling me, Peter. I'd rather have heard it from you than anybody else."  
  
*****  
  
It was a week later, and Peter was tidying up the living room for the thousandth and one time. He moved a throw pillow from one couch to the other, then stepped back to examine the effect. It was better the way it was.  
  
As he was putting it back, straightening up the side lamp while he was at it, Elizabeth entered the room.  
  
"It's going to be okay."  
  
Peter straightened up immediately, a naughty boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then relaxed at El's smile. "I just want to make a good impression."  
  
"And you will." She crossed the distance between them and gave him a quick hug and kiss. "Don't worry."  
  
"What if she doesn't like me?"  
  
"She's going to love you." She pecked another kiss.  
  
The doorbell rang, forcing a stop to the conversation. Peter fell silent and exchanged a look with El. She squeezed his arm as she moved towards the door.  
  
Opening the door, she discovered three people outside. Two young people - a man and a woman - flanking an older woman. The younger couple were wearing casual clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, but they had officialdom stamped all over them.  
  
"Marshal Whealon, ma'am" the man introduced himself. "Is this the Burke residence?"  
  
"Yes, I'm Elizabeth Burke." Peter joined her by the door. "And this is my husband, Peter."  
  
"Agent Peter Burke?"  
  
"That's right."  
  
"This is Marshal Hemmes," he gestured towards his partner, "and this is Maureen Caffrey."  
  
Before Maureen could say a word, El moved towards her and hugged her tight. "We're so sorry."  
  
The woman - Neal's mother - hugged Elizabeth back, then stepped away. She had a tissue in her hand, and she dabbed at her eyes now. "I'm sorry."  
  
"There's no need to be. Please, come in."  
  
Maureen looked about Peter's age. Years of hardship had etched lines of worry on her face, and her black hair was streaked with white. But Peter could see Neal in her, in her apologetic smile.  
  
"I'll show you to your room." El disappeared up the stairs with Maureen, trailed by Whealon.  
  
Marshal Hemmes stayed behind.  
  
There were so many questions on the tip of Peter's tongue. The Marshals were the ones who truly knew Neal and his family. But this woman was young, about Neal's age. She wouldn't have known Neal.  
  
She eyed Peter for a long while. "Mind if I charge my phone?"  
  
"Go right ahead."  
  
And that was that.  
  
Peter steeled himself for the days ahead.  
  
*****  
  
  
  
  
It was early the next morning when Peter came downstairs. Marshal Whealon was in the living room, keeping guard by sitting on the sofa and playing with his phone. He looked up when he heard Peter, but then quickly went back to his game.  
  
"Want a coffee?" Peter threw out.  
  
Whealon shook his head. "I'm going to sleep soon, but thanks."  
  
In the kitchen, Peter met Neal's mom. She was standing by the kitchen counter, wrapped up in her thoughts. She turned when she heard him approach. Only then did he realize that she was holding the framed 'prom' photo. That photo El took before Neal and he went out to bring down a crime boss. She put the picture back down on the counter. "Couldn't sleep," she said by way of explanation.  
  
Peter nodded. He had trouble sleeping as well. Today was the big day. Neal's funeral. Maureen wouldn't be staying long, and would be flying out that evening.  
  
"Can I get you anything to eat? Drink?"  
  
She waved a hand. "It's okay."  
  
Peter fiddled with the coffee machine and soon it was grinding away.  
  
"Dan- Neal," she corrected, "Neal worked for you? For the FBI? That's what the Marshals said."  
  
Peter was about to explain the whole CI deal, but then decided he didn't want to get into it. "He did. He helped me put away a lot of criminals."  
  
"He always dreamed of being a cop."  
  
"Well, in a way he was." In his own unique way.  
  
"I don't know what Neal told you about his childhood..."  
  
"Not much, really." Peter wasn't sure how much to reveal. "I know about James. What he did."  
  
Her eyes opened wide. It had been years since she'd dared mention that name to anybody. But then she nodded. "I married a cop. It was hard, you know, the night shifts and the constant fears, but I figured it's all part of the team effort. Then one day I find myself in witness protection, with a husband accused of murder. I was in a strange town, couldn't contact my family, nobody. And I had a three year old who had no idea what's going on. It was hard."  
  
Peter handed her a mug of freshly brewed coffee.  
  
Maureen took a sip, then put it back down on the counter. She fingered the picture. "I didn't always manage. Neal's father... It would have been much easier to go into Wit Sec together. But I just couldn't. He was not the man I married. He was... " again she trailed off.  
  
Peter waited patiently.  
  
"I was just a housewife, you know? And suddenly I had to wear the pants and make sure there's food on the table."  
  
"And the Marshals... didn't they help you out?"  
  
"They did, but the government only helps up to a point. Besides," she added bitterly, "we weren't the star witness. James wanted Neal with him, and he had a lot of pull with the Marshals. I fought him with everything I had."  
  
"And Ellen?" At Maureen's blank look, he added, "James' partner. Didn't she go into witness protection with you?"  
  
Maureen nodded. "Ellen, right." Apparently, Ellen was not the name Maureen knew her by. "She did, after the trial. Neal looked up to her, because she was a cop too, and she knew his father. Oh... " she said, suddenly, "I have some pictures of Neal, would you like to see them?"  
  
"I'd love to."  
  
Maureen went up to her room. When she came back down, she was holding a small packet of photos. She handed it to Peter.  
  
Peter looked at the first one Neal, a tiny kid with a humongous backpack, going to school. He moved on to the next one.  
  
"This one was Halloween, when he was eight, I think."  
  
There was Neal, dressed as a police officer. Looking quite proud of himself. Peter had seen _that_ look often enough.  
  
"That was his favorite costume. He wore it for a few years, even after he truly outgrew it. He wanted to be a cop, and I was so proud, but it terrified me. I had told him all those years that his father had been killed in the line of duty. He wanted to hear all the details, and so...."  
  
"You told him what he wanted to hear."  
  
Maureen nodded. "He was just a kid. He didn't deserve to be saddled with a murderer for a dad. But when he got older, I was so afraid he'd start digging deeper. That he'd look into newspaper records and start asking questions. He didn't even know we were in witness protection, you see?"  
  
"He would have found out at some point."  
  
"I know, I know. And it was all my fault, in a way, because I kept pushing off telling him the truth. And then he wanted to join the police academy, and there was this monument there, for the officers who were killed. So I knew it was now or never."  
  
"You told him?"  
  
"Ellen told him. He didn't take it well. He blamed me, and he was right. He took off, didn't even say goodbye. I had no idea where he was, and the Marshals were no help, because he'd opted out of the program. I almost went after him, but I was too scared."  
  
She noted Peter unasked question. "I didn't even know where to start. I couldn't just take time off to start searching for him, and I was too scared I wouldn't be able to find him. Even more scared that I would, and that he wouldn't forgive me. When Neal got arrested... I saw it on the news. I asked the Marshals if I could meet him."  
  
"They didn't let you?"  
  
"Neal..." She raised a hand to wipe away the tears that threatened to overtake her. "He refused to see me. He blamed me for lying to him. Still blamed me. But what was I supposed to tell a little kid? That his father was a crook? That he murdered people for money?"  
  
Peter felt a pang of guilt. He had put in a lot of effort to get Neal to make peace with his dad. But he'd never considered that maybe he should do the same with Neal's mom. Now it was too late.  
  
"He was right," Maureen continued. "I wasn't much of a mother. I was pulling shifts, and I wasn't able to take care of him the way I wished I could. He was such a young kid, and he had to learn to take care of himself."  
  
"And he did. Neal turned out alright," Peter assured her. "You'd have been proud of him."  
  
Maureen straightened her gaze at Peter. "I am..." she paused, then painfully corrected herself, "was, I was _always_ proud of him."  
  
Behind her, Peter noticed Neal, standing there, the expression on his face inscrutable.  
  
"He was proud of you too, you know." Peter wasn't sure what had possessed him to say it. "He once told me..."  
  
He looked at Neal, urging him silently to say _something_. Neal cleared his throat. "Tell her I always loved her."  
  
"... that he loved you. He always did."  
  
Maureen sniffled. "I love him so much. I always held out hope that one day..." she choked up. "And now it's too late."  
  
"Tell her that when I met James, it made me appreciate everything she did for me."  
  
"A year of so ago, James had come here, to New York. He came looking for Neal..." Peter started telling the story.  
  
Their coffees were turning cold, but they paid no notice.


	3. Goodbye

  


The funeral was a very small affair. Sara had made it after all, but Mozzie didn't. Though - Peter looked around - for all he knew, the little guy was hiding somewhere, keeping watch.  
  
The small group gathered in the small chapel for a few words. June was sitting in one of the front pews, a black veil obscuring her face. She was flanked by Elizabeth on one side and Maureen on the other. Sara had sat next to Elizabeth. The other pews along that first row were occupied by agents from the White Collar division. They spilled over into the next row, but that was it. Well, the two Marshals accompanying Maureen were also there - one sitting a few rows back, the other standing by the door. But that was it.  
  
Peter wasn't sure who else he expected to show up. Did Neal have any other friends? There was Alex, but she was in the wind, and even if she'd heard about Neal's death, she probably wouldn't show up to a place so filled with FBI agents. Other than that... Peter wasn't sure who else there was. As much as he knew about Neal's personal life, he now realized that he didn't really know much. Neal's father, James, was also in the wind, and in any case, Peter doubted he would want to show up, even if he could. He chided himself at the thought, and tried to focus on the service.  
  
The presiding priest, Father O'Malley, was short and balding, thick-framed glasses perched atop his nose. The very picture that Neal had drawn of the Little Star suspect. He led a short prayer, and afterward signaled Peter to come forward.  
  
Peter fumbled a bit with the microphone, sending a sharp screech all around the chapel before settling down. He glanced over at Neal's casket. It was difficult talking to a wooden box.  
  
"Neal.... I met Neal almost ten years ago. At the time I didn't know him very well, I was just assigned to his case. And then..." he hesitated, unsure how much he should get into the 'catching Neal and putting him in jail part of the story', "and then, three years ago, he became my CI. He helped me catch criminals and close cases. But he was also my friend. And.. And... he taught me the meaning of trust. Neal-" Peter gulped, but he couldn't stop the tears streaming down his face. "Neal, you taught me so much. You were there for me when I needed it, and I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I wasn't there for you when it really mattered. I-" He broke off, the growing lump in his throat preventing him from saying another word.  
  
The priest quickly rushed in to continue. "Thank you, Agent Burke. Maureen?"  
  
Neal's mother got up and made her way to the lectern. "Neal." She addressed herself to the casket, "Neal, my boy. it's been such a long time since I've seen you. I've never thought it would happen under these circumstances. My grandfather once taught me a blessing, and it has helped me keep strong through the years. I don't know if you remember, but we used to say it when you were a little boy."  
  
She cleared her throat, and produced a handwritten page.  
  
"May the road rise to meet you,  
  
May the wind be always at your back.  
  
May the sun shine warm upon your face,  
  
The rains fall soft upon your fields.  
  
And until we meet again,  
  
May God hold you in the palm of his hand."  
  
"May God always hold you in the palm of his hand. Goodbye, my son. My boy."  
  
The casket was then driven to the gravesite, where it met up with the participants again. For Kate's burial, Peter had chosen a quiet spot with a view towards the sea. One which he'd hoped Kate would have appreciated. Most importantly, it was within Neal's radius, to allow him to visit her without needing to ask for permission.  
  
Now Neal would forever lie by Kate's side. The irony being that even in death, Neal remained within his two mile radius.  
  
Father O'Malley intoned the Lord's prayer and the casket was slowly lowered into the grave. There was no 21-gun salute, no flags and banners. The FBI hadn't sent a wreath to say goodbye to the man who had closed so many cases for them, though Peter had made sure to have a wreath made from the White Collar department, and the attendees had brought more than enough flowers to cover the grave.  
  
Neal might not have had many friends, but those he had, truly cared about him.  
  
  
*****  
  
After the ceremony, everybody went back to June's, for a get-together.  
  
It was the first time Peter had been in Neal's studio apartment since Neal's death. The kitchen table was full with snacks and drinks, thanks to El and June (and most probably, Neal's own wine collection). Peter grabbed a beer.  
  
The rest of the room... had been cleared out. The furniture had all been pushed into a corner, the paintings on the wall were gone.  
  
"Your FBI agents were here," June murmured to Peter, noting his surprise.  
  
"OPR?"  
  
She shrugged. "They didn't say. They took the whole place apart."  
  
Peter just shook his head. He felt like wringing somebody's neck. He wished June would have updated him.  
  
People milled around him, having whispered conversations.  
  
"Oh my goodness!" That was Maureen, who had just entered, still wheezing from climbing all those stairs. "This was Neal's place?"  
  
Peter turned to welcome her in.  
  
"First time I was here, I couldn't believe that a guy who'd been in prison just a day earlier could arrange himself such great accommodations. I was sure he had managed to con his way into this place." He glanced at June, who smiled in return. "I told him he had to get his feet on the ground. Stop dreaming of cappuccino in the clouds."  
  
"Cappuccino in the clouds," Maureen repeated. "That sounds like Neal."  
  
"Well, Neal could always do the impossible," Peter said.  
  
Clinton and Diana joined the group. "Remember the time he convinced Diana to be an escort girl?"  
  
"He didn't _convince_ me," Diana answered back. "He just went ahead and did it."  
  
"It did net us a crooked state senator," Peter added, jumping to Neal's defense.  
  
"I can't believe I'm saying it, but life was much more interesting with Neal around," Diana added.  
  
Maureen laughed, "That was certainly true. I loved him so, but he could really be a bundle. There was this one time, Neal was ten, maybe eleven..."  
  
  
  
  
Looking out towards the balcony, Peter noticed Neal standing there. The younger man was sipping a glass of wine as he looked at the gathering. Peter shot a quick glance left and right, but nobody else seemed to notice Neal. "I'm going mad," he muttered to himself. Which just made things worse, because now he'd obviously started _talking_ to himself.  
  
Neal was usually the center of attention. If he'd be imagining him, wouldn't he be imagining him doing what he usually did?  
  
"Boss?" Peter's thoughts were cut short. Diana raised a questioning eyebrow.  
  
Peter quickly excused himself, and sauntered over to where Neal was standing.  
  
"Kind of weird," Neal commented once Peter was within hearing distance, "attending your own funeral."  
  
"Kind of weird, talking to a dead guy." Peter replied. He took a long sip of his beer. How many times had he stood here, drinking a beer while Neal sipped a glass of wine, talking over a case? He missed those times. He missed it so much, it was a physical pain, an ache that wouldn't let go.  
  
Neal chuckled in reply. He glanced at his (now former) handler. "Be honest, Peter. This is the way you saw it going, didn't you?"  
  
Peter spluttered into his beer. "What?!"  
  
"Don't tell me you were surprised by it. You always thought I was going to end up this way," Neal said.  
  
"This way?"  
  
Neal gestured with his wine glass towards the gathering. "Dead."  
  
"I always _feared_ you'll end up dead."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"But it didn't have to be this way, Neal. I don't know what you were up to with Keller, but-"  
  
Neal rolled his eyes. "You're going to start with _that_ again?"  
  
Peter paused, unsure. "Start with what?"  
  
"You never gave me the benefit of the doubt, and you can't even do it now."  
  
"You didn't earn it."  
  
"I think I have."  
  
Peter scoffed. Neal was _dead_! Then, slightly relenting, "Okay, so what were you doing with Keller?"  
  
Neal just shook his head. "You never let it go, do you?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Just once, I wished you'd trust me."  
  
"I did."  
  
"I mean, _really_ trust me. You always acted as if I was up to something."  
  
"You usually were," Peter mumbled into his beer.  
  
Neal didn't hear him, or pretended not to. "Those constant suspicious looks you gave me. I just..." Neal trailed off.  
  
Before Peter could frame an answer, he heard El. "Honey?" He looked back to see El, framed in the lighted window. He wondered if she'd heard him talk to Neal. "Is everything okay?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah."  
  
"This is a party in Neal's honor. Don't just skulk outside."  
  
Peter glanced back at the patio. There was nobody there now. "I'm coming."  
  
*****  
  
Neal didn't appear again the next day. Or the one after that. As the third day came to a close, and still no Neal, Peter's anxiety grew. He feared that he might have hurt Neal's feelings. That he'll never see him again.  
  
Of course, the more logical part of his brain told him that he had imagined it all. After all, Neal was dead. Maybe his mind had needed something to latch on to, to fill in the void. Maybe part of a healthy grieving process was realizing that he'll never see Neal again.  
  
He wasn't sure which part of his brain he wanted to listen to.  
  
That night, Peter tossed and turned. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Neal, bloodied, lying on a gurney and being loaded into an ambulance. When he tried moving closer, the medic pushed him away. "Keep away, sir," she said. "We need to get him to a hospital." Peter feared he'll never see Neal again, but the more he tried to reach him, the harder the medic pushed him away. "Not now!"  
  
It was no use.  
  
Blinking in the darkness, Peter wondered what to do. El was sleeping softly besides him, her breathing calmingly regular. But not calming enough.  
  
Maybe a mug of warm milk will help him sleep.  
  
He padded his way down the stairs. Down in the kitchen, he automatically went through the motions to make the milk: opening the fridge, getting a jug of milk out, setting a pan on the stove.  
  
"Hello, Peter."  
  
The voice behind him made him jump, but he also felt a flood of relief.  
  
He turned around. "Neal!"  
  
"Getting ready for a stakeout?"  
  
Peter chuckled. "You miss those already?"  
  
Now it was Neal's turn to smile.  
  
"Look," Peter said, "I'm sorry. I know it was hard on you, always being under a magnifying glass. I didn't have a choice."  
  
"You always have a choice," Neal answered, quietly.  
  
"I was your handler, Neal."  
  
Peter wasn't sure that Neal accepted that, but he didn't respond. Peter peeked at the milk, which was starting to show some bubbles. He stirred it and then turned back to Neal. "You know, I was jealous of you."  
  
"Me? Why?"  
  
"Everything you did was bigger than life. I put you in a motel for the night, you wake up in a mansion."  
  
"Cappuccino in the clouds."  
  
"Exactly." Peter turned off the heat.  
  
"The irony of life, isn't it?" Neal commented.  
  
Peter was about to pour himself a mug of hot milk, but paused at Neal's words. "What is?"  
  
" _I_ was jealous of _you_."  
  
"Me?" Peter laughed with disbelief. "I thought you hated everything I did. Oh, no, don't tell me, you were jealous of my government paycheck."  
  
Neal smiled. "Well, maybe not the paycheck, but everything else."  
  
"The long nights on stakeout? The beer and deviled ham?"  
  
"Well, maybe not those either," Neal had to concede, "but I was jealous of you. You got up in the morning, and you knew where you were going. And in the evening, you came home... well, to a home. You had Elizabeth, who was there by your side no matter what."  
  
"You could have had that too, you know." Peter was about to add, "if you'd only listened to me," but stopped himself just in time.  
  
"Maybe." It had been his dream with Kate. Settle down in a little place in France, by the Mediterranean, a small cottage, a couple of kids. He could imagine himself with Sara too. But that didn't happen either. "I even envied your belief in the system."  
  
"You mean, my naivete?"  
  
"You were willing to risk going to jail for a crime you didn't commit, because you believed in the system. I sometimes wished I had that conviction."  
  
Peter finally poured the milk out, and put both the pan and mug aside. "Before I met you, I thought I knew what was right and what was wrong. You committed a crime, you paid a price for it. But after we started working together, that black and white started blurring."  
  
"My fault, huh?"  
  
"Thanks to you. And it was scary. I was losing who I was. Sometimes... sometimes I wished I could just go back to the my naive self, the one who had no trouble telling the good guys from the bad guys."  
  
"Honey?" Elizabeth appeared in the doorway, her eyes puffed from sleep. She looked around in concern. "Who were you talking to?"  
  
"Myself." That didn't seem to calm El down much. "I was just making myself hot milk. You want some?"  
  
She nodded. "It's been a hard week. But give it time. It will get better."  
  
Peter turned to the stove. He wanted so much to tell her about Neal. He wanted to tell her that for him, Neal was still around. But he held back. If only he could be sure that he wasn't losing his mind.


	4. Alive

It was a few months later when Jones appeared in Peter's office. Clinton was an understated agent, and his smile belied his excitement.  
  
Peter looked up from the report he was reviewing. This had to be big. "You got a lead on the Mortenson brothers?"  
  
"Almost." Clinton closed the distance to Peter's desk, and handed him a piece of paper.  
  
"What is it?" Peter could see it was a search warrant, but didn't recognize the name listed.  
  
"Remember when you told me to look into those storage units by the airport?"  
  
"Yes..." It was the operation to bring down the Pink Panthers, and Peter had suspected Neal was up to something. Keller's handler, Luc Renaud, had shown up in Peter's office. He had followed Neal to the airport, and had taken pictures of Neal meeting an unknown woman by a stack of storage containers. Peter had been sure Neal was hiding something in one of these containers. But now Neal was dead, and did it really matter? If he'd ever wondered about it, Peter had just assumed Neal had taken the secret to his grave.  
  
Clinton noted his boss' lack of enthusiasm, but forged on. "The units are owned by one Bud Berelson, and of course none of them were registered to Caffrey or any of his known aliases."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"But turns out that Berelson got a little side business dealing in forged antiquities."  
  
That piqued Peter's interest.  
  
"We arrested him this morning, and got a warrant to search all his properties. I thought I'll take a looksee at those storage units, see what I can find first. You want to come?"  
  
Of course he did.  
  
*****  
  
The two FBI agents drove to the airport.  
  
Clinton parked the car by the storage containers. "All the containers are used for long term storage," he explained as they walked over. "The owner said they were all paid five years in advance."  
  
"Let's get to it."  
  
Clinton produced a lock-pick and set to work.  
  
Peter fidgeted, and finally put his hand in his jacket pockets. How would they know which one was Neal's?  
  
He didn't need to worry.  
  
The first four were all filled with boxes of paperwork from a data processing company. The fifth one, however...  
  
The door swung open, and Peter and Clinton both shined their flashlights inside. Peter had no idea what he expected to see.  
  
But this... he wasn't expecting this. The beam of light from his flashlight picked up detailed plans. A mannequin stood on the far wall, dressed in a suit. Peter went over to check it out. It had been shot, just at the place Neal had been shot.  
  
Clinton shined his light at a paper listing a poisonous formula, along with expected results. Slowed heart-rate and metabolism, dilated pupils. "He had it all planned," Clinton said.  
  
"He faked his death." Peter said it hesitatingly at first, then repeated it with more conviction. "The bastard faked his own death."  
  
He chuckled with relief.  
  
He had been so convinced by Neal's charade. But Neal wasn't dead. Of course, he was going to kill him when he found him, but for now, he just let the joy wash away the pain.  
  
Clinton ducked his head to read the small print on the wall. Then glanced at Peter. "Then who did we bury?"  
  
"The question is whether we even buried somebody in the first place."  
  
Clinton gave him a look.  
  
"I'm going to find out," Peter said.  
  
*****  
  
But despite his pronouncement, Peter didn't rush with his investigation. In fact, he put it aside and tried to forget about it. If Neal was alive, then Peter wasn't sure at all that he wanted to find out who was buried in his place. It would raise all sorts of problems. It would probably mean that Neal would once again be a fugitive. Best case, for running out on the FBI, worst case, for murder.  
  
No. It was much easier to shelve the file and forget about it.  
  
He really, really tried. But try as he might, he couldn't. If Neal was really alive, he had to know. He had to find him. Sitting in his office, overlooking the bullpen, and the desk where Neal had sat and worked (or pretended to), he daydreamed about their reunion. He'd show up wherever it was that Neal was hiding out, surprise the wits out of him. Of course, he'd kill Neal all over again once he got to him, but then they'll sit back and have a couple of beers, or wine, or something, and laugh about it.  
  
Living in doubt - being sure one day that Neal was alive and well, only to wake up the next day after yet another nightmare of watching Neal lying unmoving on that metal bed - it was driving him crazy  
  
Besides, Neal still kept showing up.  
  
"You're alive," Peter would tell him. "I shouldn't be imagining you anymore."  
  
But Neal would just shake his head with a laugh.  
  
"Maybe I should find him, somehow." he told El one night. "Surprise Neal."  
  
Elizabeth didn't see the point of digging further into the matter. "Maybe you should let sleeping dogs lie. If Neal is really alive somewhere..." Elizabeth still found it hard to believe. Neal was alive. "Maybe you should just let him be."  
  
"And if he's not?" Peter  
  
"Why wouldn't he be?"  
  
Peter shook his head. "I need to know."  
  
"There is an easy way to check, you know," she told him.  
  
"You mean?"  
  
"I mean you don't have to chase him all around the world in order to make sure you didn't bury him."  
  
And so he called up favors. A few years earlier, he'd helped out an ME with a case. Nathalie Capello, from the NYPD. Now he called her up.  
  
"You want me to exhume a body and verify its identity without anybody finding out?" she asked.  
  
"More of less."  
  
She sighed. "Sounds like more. You want me to do the impossible."  
  
"I'm sure you'll manage."  
  
"You realize this is worth at least two future favors?"  
  
"You got it."  
  
He had set the ball in motion. Now all he had to do now was sit and wait for the results.  
*****  
  
Capello called him back two days later.  
  
"You've got results?"  
  
"I'm not a bearer of good news, Agent Burke. The body is definitely Neal Caffrey's."  
  
Peter opened his mouth to answer, then shut it. He tried again. Cleared his throat. "But that's impossible."  
  
"There's no doubt about it," came the answer down the line. "I pulled Caffrey's records and checked dental, prints and DNA. They all match."  
  
"But-" Peter knew that repeating the impossibility of that fact was not going to sound very adult of him. "Are you sure there's no error somewhere?"  
  
"Am I sure he hadn't managed to hack into the Federal system and somehow change the records to match the man you buried?"  
  
It did sound extreme, though Peter was willing to grasp at any straws right now. "...Yeah."  
  
"I'm pretty sure," Capello answered. "I checked with the NYPD, and with Sing-Sing's records as well. It all matches, Agent Burke."  
  
Peter took a deep breath. All his hopes had been dashed. "Well, thanks for the update."  
  
"Sure. Just one more thing. According to the coroner's report, reason of death was one gunshot wound to the chest."  
  
"That's right."  
  
"The body I have was not shot at all. In fact, that's why I double-checked everything."  
  
"But that's impossible." There's that word again. "We have the bullet."  
  
Capello's laugh tinkled in his ear. "A second ago you were sure he didn't die at all."  
  
Peter had no answer to that one.  
  
"You might have a bullet," she continued, "but that bullet did not kill Neal Caffrey."  
  
"But the autopsy report..." Peter trailed off. Neal's body had been subjected to an autopsy. If Neal hadn't been shot, why would the pathologist claim he had?  
  
The ME interrupted his thoughts. "Do you want me to turn this over for investigation?"  
  
Peter considered that. "I'd like to look into it myself, first."  
  
"Sure. I wish I had better news to report."  
  
"Yeah." Peter also wished she had. "Thanks, though."  
  
"Anytime. Don't forget, Burke, you owe me two now."  
  
  
*****  
  
And so Peter found himself back at Mount Sinai. The same hospital where Neal had been pronounced dead.  
  
He made his way down to the basement, where the morgue was located. He hadn't been here for months, but he saw it often enough in his dreams. Those dreams where he'd wake up in a cold sweat, unable to go back to sleep. The long corridors, the drab, cream-colored walls. It sent a shiver down his back.  
  
A young nurse manning the station at the entrance lifted his eyes from his iphone. "Can I help you?"  
  
Peter waved him off, as he passed by. The nurse didn't bother running after him. Down here, there were no patients to disturb.  
  
Peter's scanned the name tags by the doors, until he found the right one. "Dr. Grayson, Michael," it said.  
  
He knocked and walked in, not waiting for an answer.  
  
Dr. Grayson was typing away on his computer when Peter entered. "I'm busy, if you want to make an appointment..." he trailed off when Peter pulled out his badge.  
  
"Agent Burke, FBI."  
  
"What is this about?"  
  
"I don't know if you remember, a few months ago you declared a friend of mine dead."  
  
The doctor furrowed a brow. "I'm not sure who-" he started saying, but Peter cut him off, impatiently.  
  
"Neal Caffrey. Name ring a bell?"  
  
"If you'll tell me what you're looking for, I might be-"  
  
Peter slapped down a file on the doctor's desk. The doctor practically jumped. "Neal Caffrey. You pronounced him DOA from a gunshot wound."  
  
The doctor didn't bother opening the file.  
  
"Only thing is," Peter continued, "I had his body exhumed. There was no gunshot wound."  
  
The doctor licked his lips.  
  
"Care to explain?" When no answer seemed forthcoming, Peter snorted. "Here, let me lay it down for you. Caffrey came to you and asked you to help him fake his death. He probably paid you a large sum for your troubles. But things didn't go according to plan."  
  
"I-" Grayson cleared his throat and tried again. "I- I warned him that it was dangerous."  
  
Peter waved away the attempted apology. Or was it an attempt to avoid blame.  
  
"He wouldn't listen to me."  
  
"And so you went ahead with it anyway. You killed him."  
  
"He insisted. He said he's going to do it with or without my help."  
  
"So why didn't you just tell the truth on the autopsy report?"  
  
"There was nothing I could do. Mr. Caffrey was already dead. I'd already signed the death report and listed the cause of death so I had no choice but to continue to play along."  
Peter harrumphed at that. Wasn't that what he'd tried to teach Neal all those years? There was always a choice. Neal had apparently learned the lesson.  
  
"In any case," the doctor continued, "I didn't see that it mattered much. Mr. Caffrey was dead."  
  
A horrifying thought occurred to Peter. "Was he alive when I saw him?" Peter spit the question out. The idea that he was standing over Neal as he fought for life was too much to take.  
  
"I can't say exactly when he died. Most likely he was too far gone by this stage."  
  
"Most likely?!"  
  
"There was nothing I could do for him at this point." Grayson reached out to pick a file, then put it down.  
  
"This is is a hospital for Christ's sake! You stood over a young man, a healthy young man, as he lay dying and you did nothing."  
  
"This healthy young man had decided to undergo a very risk procedure. There was nothing to do but wait for him to wake up."  
  
"Except he didn't."  
  
"No." The doctor agreed. "I'm going to carry that knowledge with me for the rest of my life."  
  
Peter snorted again.  
  
Grayson looked at him with palpable fear. "Are you here to arrest me?"  
  
Peter locked eyes with him. Then turned around and without further word, walked out.  
  
Outside, in the corridor, he leaned against the wall, and took a deep breath. He had gotten what he'd come for. He now knew the truth. He squared his shoulders and headed towards the exit.  
  
He made it back to the parking lot and into his car before he lost it. He started beating the steering wheel until he couldn't take it anymore.  
  
He had stood over Neal as his friend was fighting for his life. If only he'd known.  
  
*****  
  
That night, in their bedroom, Peter couldn't stop pacing. "I can't believe he did something so... so..."  
  
El was sitting on her side of the bed, going through accounts. She had to make sure everything was prepared for Yvonne. Once she gave birth, she planned to cut down her time in the business. At least for a little while.  
  
Now she looked up at her husband. "So Neal?" she supplied.  
  
"So _stupid_ ," Peter ranted. "If only he'd told me what he was planning."  
  
"What would you have done if he'd told you he was planning on faking his death?"  
  
"I'd have convinced him he didn't have to go through with it." At El's doubtful look, he conceded, "Or more likely, I'd have thrown him back in jail so he couldn't try it."  
  
"He didn't _intend_ to kill himself."  
  
"No. He intended to fake his death and make me believe he'd been murdered while he was off gallivanting who knows where."  
  
El watched him pace the length of the room, then back again. It was now or never. "I told him to make sure you're safe," she threw out the words.  
  
Peter paused, then turned towards her. "What?"  
  
"The last night he was here, before you brought down the Pink Panthers. I told him we're about to have a son." She felt her round tummy. She was due in just a couple of weeks. "And that I want him to make sure you'll be there for him."  
  
Peter closed the distance between them, sitting down by her side. "Oh, Hon, of course I'll be there for him."  
  
"What if Keller would have shot you first?"  
  
Peter sighed. For all his brave words, he could not promise El that he'll always be safe. He had risked his life too many times.  
  
"Neal said we're his family," El continued, "and that he'll stop at nothing to keep you safe."  
  
"By running away?"  
  
"Maybe he thought..." El floundered. "I don't know."  
  
And then realization hit. "He was afraid the Pink Panthers would go after us."  
  
"Would they?" The idea made El sick to the bottom of her stomach.  
  
"If they'd have discovered Neal had screwed them over?" Peter thought it out. "He was arrested too, but maybe he didn't think it was enough. And if they think he's dead, that solves the problem. Oh, God, I wished he's just have _talked_ to me about it. We could have put up security. We could have _dealt_ with it."  
  
For a few moments, they sat there, each wrestling with their own thoughts. The danger, the sacrifice.  
  
"You know," El broke the silence, "I was thinking.... what do you think of 'Neal'?" she patted her soon-to-be-born-son. It was an idea she'd been toying with for a while.  
  
"Neal?" Peter echoed. He put his hand over Elizabeth's. "I think it's perfect."


	5. Free

Following the birth of Peter and Elizabeth's son, Neal, Mozzie would show up every so often. Spend an evening, join the family for dinner, and then play a bit with his former partner-in-crime's namesake.  
  
It was on one such evening when, after dinner, El went up to rest, leaving the boys to chat. All three of them.  
  
Peter was snuggling little Neal as he fed him his evening bottle.  
  
"He kind of reminds me of Neal," Mozzie remarked after a while.  
  
"No he doesn't," Peter hurried to dismiss the notion, but then turned to examine his son. He had apparently gotten El's blue eyes, though that could still change. "Are you planning a con anytime soon?" he cooed at him.  
  
The baby continued sucking on the bottle.  
  
He'd have to wait a few years for an answer. Right now, there was another question burning on his mind. A question he hadn't dared ask El. "Do you ever see Neal?" he asked.  
  
Mozzie's eyes shifted from the baby and locked on Peter's gaze. "I suppose you don't mean this one?"  
  
"Yeah, like-"  
  
"Many times. I catch a glimpse of somebody, and I'm sure it's him. But it never is." Mozzie blinked.  
  
Peter knew he was bringing up a painful subject, but he pushed on. "But... do you ever talk to him?"  
  
"All the time."  
  
"Does he... does he ever talk back?"  
  
Mozzie glanced at Peter. "What is going on?"  
  
Peter checked the bottle, seeing that Neal still had a way to go. Then turned back to Mozzie. He had to know. "I see Neal, all the time. He shows up and talks to me."  
  
"You mean, you see him? Here?" Mozzie waved a hand around the room.  
  
"He's sitting there right now." Peter pointed at the empty couch.  
  
Peter thought that Mozzie would make some wisecrack about how _he_ was the one who was always considered insane. But instead Mozzie got up and gingerly approached the couch. "Right here?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Mozzie reached out experimentally and moved his hand back and forth in the approximate place where he assumed Neal was. Neal tried to duck, but Mozzie's hand soon connected. It simply passed through. Peter's jaw dropped.  
  
Then Mozzie cleared his throat, and without further ado launched into a tirade. "What the hell are you doing?!"  
  
"Me?" Peter asked.  
  
"Neal!" Mozzie punctuated every sentence with a jab of his finger. "I thought we were best friends. Why did you come back to haunt the Suit of all people?"  
  
Peter had a hard time following. "Wait.. Haunt?"  
  
But Mozzie wasn't listening. "Is he talking now? What is he saying?" He turned, demanding from Peter.  
  
Little Neal took the opportunity just then to let Peter know he was done with his bottle. Peter expertly turned his son over and started rubbing his back.  
  
"What is he saying?" Mozzie demanded to know.  
  
Peter looked at Neal. His former CI had stumbled back over the couch, and was now standing there, unsure.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Nothing? Nothing?!" Mozzie shouted.  
  
"Hey!" Peter cut him off. "You're going to wake Elizabeth up."  
  
"Nothing?" Mozzie whispered.  
  
"Look," Neal said, finally, "I don't know, okay?"  
  
Peter glanced at Mozzie, who obviously did not hear the answer. "He says he doesn't know."  
  
"How could he not know?" Mozzie turned back to Neal. Or the place where he thought Neal was. "How could you not know?"  
  
Neal tried explaining. "It just happened, okay? I just-"  
  
"What is he saying?" Mozzie asked, impatiently. "Why can't I hear him?"  
  
"I thought I was hallucinating."  
  
"That option is not off the table yet, Suit. But," Mozzie conceded, "it's possible Neal has returned as a ghost."  
  
"That's impossible."  
  
"Do you have a better explanation?"  
  
Only that he's gone completely mad. The ghost option was looking remarkably attractive at this point.  
  
Mozzie was already thinking ahead. "If you can see him, there's no reason why I can't see him. We just have to figure the mechanics of it."  
  
"Mechanics?" Peter wasn't sure that's the right word in this case. If Neal was indeed a ghost... "What if it's impossible?"  
  
"Nothings impossible for a ghost," Mozzie determined without any doubt. "He just has to figure it out. And then it will be almost like he's not dead." Mozzie's eyes sparkled. "If anybody could cheat death, it would be Neal."  
  
Peter glanced over to where Neal was standing. He was not looking happy. "Hold on a second."  
  
Mozzie stopped mid-word.  
  
Peter moved his son to his shoulder, patting his back gently. "What if Neal doesn't want to stay around forever?"  
  
"Why wouldn't he?" Mozzie asked, puzzled. After all, he didn't say, 'we're here'.  
  
"Because he's dead. Because his ghost or spirit or whatever it is, should be doing what other ghosts do." He paused, unsure. "Whatever that is."  
  
"But-"  
  
"No."  
  
"You always thought you knew what's best for Neal. How about you ask _him_ for once?"  
  
Mozzie had a point. He was falling into old habits. "Neal?"  
  
Neal looked at both his friends. He never wanted to die, but now that he did... "I think... I think I'd like to move on."  
  
Peter relied Neal's response to Mozzie. Neal's former partner in crime looked like he was about to argue, but then slowly nodded. "Fine, so what do we do?"  
  
"I thought you were the ghost expert."  
  
"Why would you think that?"  
  
Peter gave Mozzie a look.  
  
Mozzie sighed. "All I know is what everybody knows."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"Ghosts hang around because they've got unfinished business. You've got to help them sort it out."  
  
"Why can't they do it?"  
  
"So suddenly you're the expert on ghost?"  
  
"Okay..." Peter thought it out. "So what's the unfinished business?"  
  
Mozzie held his hands up in protest. "Oh, no. I'm not going to be your shrink, Suit. You've got to figure it out on your own."  
  
Peter considered that for a long moment. "I know what it is." He then handed little Neal to Mozzie, who took the baby with practiced ease.  
  
Neal looked at him uncertainly as he approached.  
  
"Neal, I know everything you did was out of love. Faking your father's testimony, making sure I wouldn't be charged. Even faking your own death." Stupid as _that_ was. "I love you, Neal."  
  
"Peter..." Neal started shimmering out. He looked at Peter with surprise, which soon turned to determination. Turning to Mozzie, he clapped him on the shoulder. "Goodbye, my friend."  
  
Peter gave a running explanation, and repeated the words aloud.  
  
Mozzie looked at the empty spot where he assumed Neal was. "Goodbye, Neal. It was a great ride."  
  
Neal looked over at Peter. "Peter..."  
  
"Neal-"  
  
"I owe you. I owe you for everything, Peter. You were the one person in my life who really made me _want_ to change."  
  
Peter enveloped Neal in his arms, though his fingers bled through Neal's non-corporeal form.  
  
  
  
Mozzie blinked, then slowly took off his glasses and wiped them clean. When he put them back on, his gaze moved round the room, searching. "Is he still here?"  
  
Peter looked around. He couldn't see Neal. But more importantly, he couldn't _feel_ him. It was a strange feeling. He hadn't realized how much he was aware of Neal's presence until now. When it was no more.  
  
"No, he's gone," he said, after a pregnant pause.  
  
Neal had finally achieved true peace. And for the first time in a long time, Peter felt the same.


End file.
